


Framed to bend

by mwestbelle



Series: Petsitting 'verse [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: BDSM, Community: sosodirty, Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My reason is not framed to bend or stoop: my knees are." -Michael Eyquem de Montaigne</p><p>Bob lets Brian talk him into "petsitting" Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Framed to bend

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Being given to another dom, written for sosodirty
> 
> Warnings: D/s, BDSM, toys
> 
> Beta'd by julesmania. This is for you, panda ♥
> 
> (Originally posted February 7, 2009)

Bob was washing dishes when Brian called.

He said, “I need a favor” without any preamble, because that was how Brian worked. He had things to do, stuff on his mind, and no time to dance around anything.

Bob grunted and hunched awkwardly, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could keep scraping coffee-colored sludge out of the bottom of week-old mugs.

“Raygun Jones got signed.”

Bob grinned to himself, even though the sludge was oozing in under his fingernails. “No shit, congrats. It‘s about time.”

“Fucking tell me about it.” Brian snorted and there was a pause and faint clacking that told Bob Brian was rattling off e-mails while they talked. Always working. “They’re going on a tour. Big one. You know someone has to keep an eye on those idiots.”

Raygun Jones was probably the most accident-prone band Bob had ever met. And that was being kind, since most of their mishaps had little to do with being “accident-prone” and everything to do with a complete lack of common sense. He had no idea how Pete had survived so long, probably just from the furious mama bear “guidance” of Patrick that tided him over until Brian was able to come and mother the hell out of him. And Mikey--well. Mikey had found some way to stumble half-awake and half-flat ironed through life.

“So what, you want me to come talk to your plants?”

“How do you feel about pet-sitting? For an indefinite time.”

Bob nodded to himself and almost dislodged the phone from his precarious hold. The side of his face was feeling sweaty, and he could feel the keys pressing in. “What are we talking, fish?”

“The other kind of pet. My kind.”

Bob dropped the phone into the sink and swore. He tried to push one sleeve of his hoodie up past his elbow with his wrist and plunged his hand into the dirty water. When the screen came back in view, the “Call Duration” was still counting happily, so he just wiped off some of the muck on his hoodie and put the phone back on his ear. “Dropped the phone.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Brian sounded faintly amused, but Bob’s insides were twisting up.

“I don’t know, man, I. I don’t think so.”

Brian sighed, and Bob knew he was pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off his pretty much constant headache. “Look, I know that you don’t really do this, but. I don’t know who else to ask.”

Bob‘s stomach turned over. “I don’t do this at all.”

“You did okay with Frank, yeah?” Bob was silent because the thing with Frank was different. Some beer, some laughs, some kinky sex. It was just a _thing_ , not like what Brian did at all. Brian must have been able to hear it in his silence, because he sighed again. “I wouldn’t ask, man, trust me, but. I can’t just leave him. He. Gee _needs_ this.”

“Gee?” The cogs of Bob’s brain feel like they might be moving through the same sludge that invades his mugs, but they do get there eventually. “Gerard?” Brian grunted an affirmation, and Bob barked out a harsh laugh. “Mikey’s cokehead brother, Gerard?”

A longer silence from Brian, and he sounded tired when he spoke again. “He’s clean.”

“But he’s not going to stay that way.” Bob’s gut clenched up. _Fucking_ Brian. “Which is why you can’t leave him. You need someone to keep him clean.”

“It’s new to him. He just. He’s used to this, I don’t want to fuck him up.”

Bob snorted, leaning on the sink, dishes soaking and forgotten. “Think he did that already.”

“Fuck him up _again_ , asshole.” Brian growled out a sound that Bob wasn’t sure was directed at him or whatever showed up on the computer. Probably both, considering the clacking picking up again. “Look, you don’t have to. But I don’t know who else to ask.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to do.” Bob scratched at the back of his neck, forgetting that the dishwater scum was drying on his hands. “It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t like that.”

“It’s just like taking care of a cat, man, but easier. Give him a place to sleep, smack him around some. He cooks. He doesn’t cause trouble.”

Bob wanted to mention all the dark circles under Mikey’s eyes, the times he missed sound check and barely showed up for call, the tight line his mouth would set in when he listened to his voicemail, and _then_ see if Brian thought Gerard didn’t cause trouble. But that, apparently, was the old Gerard.

“Bryar.” Brian’s voice was weary, but all the intensity was still behind it. “Frank talked to me, you know. He said you were amazing, way better than you seemed to think. If you honestly don’t want to, I can’t fucking force you. But you can more than handle him.”

There was a long pause, because it wasn’t like that, Frank was never _his_ , not his pet or his boyfriend or any of that shit, they just did stuff sometimes. And Frank got married, so Bob couldn’t have been all that good. Then Brian said, “I think you’d be good for each other.”

Bob sighed, because if there was something he could always trust, it was that Brian Schechter knew what was good for everyone around him. “Fine, yeah. I’ll…pet-sit.”

Brian snickered. “You’re a real man, buddy.”

“Fuck off,” Bob said, and clicked his phone shut. He set it down on the counter and reached back into the sink, the water gone stagnant and grimy and cold, and got back to work.

*

Bob never actually met Mikey’s-brother-Gerard. They didn’t run in the same circles--he didn’t even run in Mikey’s circle, really, it was just through Brian and some pro bono sound work that he met the Raygun guys. After that, he saw Mikey around a few times, and Frank knew the guys from when he was still with Pencey, so they would all end up in the same basements, studios, or bars every once in a while and sometimes more often than that. He never met Gerard, but he saw him once. He wasn’t paying particularly close attention; he had a vague mental image of giant sunglasses and greasy hair and the lingering smell of old sweat and stale smoke. He wouldn’t think he could pick Gerard out of a crowd but, for some reason, he knew as soon as he opened the door that it was Gerard on the floor, nursing Brian’s dick.

Gerard was kneeling half under the soundboard Brian adopted as his desk when the band was in the midst of recording. Brian’s jeans weren’t even shoved down--just pulled open, and all Bob could see was Gerard’s dark hair, falling in front of his eyes, and his lips stretched wide. He was whimpering, making sick slick little suckling noises, and Bob was struck by how not prepared he was for this.

Brian glanced over at the door and waved Bob forward. His cheeks had a high flush and his pupils were huge, but his movements were perfectly smooth, and his voice was calm when he slid a hand into Gerard’s hair and said, “Bob’s here. Bob came to take you home.”

Gerard whined, high in his throat, and Brian pulled his hair firmly, with clear purpose. Bob watched as Gerard was pulled off of Brian’s cock, a long line of spit from his lip to the head and a shiny smear of precome at the corner of his mouth. He whined again, and mouthed at the air, trying to duck back down, and Brian pulled his hair _hard_. Eye to eye, Brian stared down at him until Gerard flushed and moved away.

Bob watched him crawl, and it wasn’t until Gerard was up on his knees in front of him, fumbling with his fly--fingers clumsy and wanting, lips swollen red and so goddamn shiny--that Bob realized how hard he was.

It hadn’t been this with Frank, not at all, but he’d missed it anyway. Missed the way Gerard just yanked his jeans to the top of his thighs and moaned wet against his boxer shorts because he just couldn’t wait. Gerard licked and mouthed at the cotton until it was dark and wet with spit, plastered against his cock. It was easy, to grab a handful of Gerard’s hair and pull his head back. Shove down his boxers with his other hand, and then guide Gerard back down, pulling and pulling until he felt Gerard gag and moan at the same time when the head of Bob’s cock nudged at the back of his throat.

He’d missed this. He’d had a couple “liasons” as Pete persisted in calling them since Frank, but they were never quite right. It was…sloppy, in a way that was as far removed from the way all Gerard’s whimpers had him drooling down his chin as tea with grandma. He didn’t want to call it control, because that was what Brian did, what he was all about, and Bob really wasn’t sure if that was him or if he wanted to be that. But Brian had Gerard, who sucked and slobbered and moaned like he couldn’t dream of anything better than this, so maybe he wasn’t so wrong.

Being hard had been a surprise, and so was the moment that sparked through him like every nerve was electric. He pulled Gerard down again when he came, far enough it had to hurt, but Gerard kept sucking, and making those desperate noises, sucking until Bob was soft in his mouth, and even then, he didn’t stop until Bob pulled him off by his hair.

Looking down, he got a good look at Gerard for the first time. He had tears at the corners of his eyes, and his mouth--god, Bob couldn’t look at it for too long without the embarrassing possibility of his dick twitching hopefully--looked smaller than it had felt. His nose was pointy and his hair was dark and, all in all, Bob wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Some kind of filthy porno heavy-lidded whatever, and not a normal guy, if a bit doll-faced and prettier than any random guy on the street.

“Sorry about him.” Bob looked away from Gerard to Brian. He was leaning back in his chair with a little grin, legs folded so that Bob wasn’t sure if he’d jerked off while Gerard was busy elsewhere or if he was still hard. “He loses some finesse near the end if you don’t keep a good hold on him. Didn’t think you’d mind too much.”

Bob snorted. Gerard had moved as soon as Brian spoke and Bob’s attention was redirected, crawling on hands and knees back to sit next to Brian’s chair. He sat with his head hanging low, hair in his face, a posture of complete misery until Brian reached over and brushed his hand over Gerard’s hair. In an instant, Gerard was leaning up against Brian’s legs, head tilted back with a sunny smile.

Brian fixed his gaze on Bob, even as he ran his fingers through Gerard‘s hair. “No alcohol. Not ever. I wouldn‘t recommend kissing him after you‘ve been drinking, and you should probably put your booze somewhere with a lock.”

Bob nodded. All his booze was already locked in a cabinet over the counter; Brian had given him a run-down of the really important stuff beforehand. This recitation of rules was mostly for Gerard’s benefit.

“No drugs, not smoke or pills or anything.” Brian scratched behind Gerard’s ear, and Gerard tilted his head obediently closer. “He can eat whatever. He’ll cook for himself if you let him, but he likes to be fed. Don’t think it’ll be an issue, but make sure he eats regularly, I don’t want him wasting away.”

God, Bob fucking hoped Gerard wouldn’t be despondent without Brian and stop eating. What was he supposed to do with that? As if reading his mind, Brian continued with, “Punish him however you like. No permanent marks, but apart from that, go for it. He can take it. He knows what he deserves.”

Gerard whimpered at that, and Bob started because it was--he had already started thinking of Gerard as a pet, and it was a surprise that he was listening and understanding their conversation. He felt sick to his stomach, that it took so little, and he dropped his gaze away from Gerard’s face.

He was wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt, obviously ready for going out since Brian probably let him wander around naked most of the time, and the front of his jeans bulged obscenely. Bob snapped his gaze away as quickly as he could, and Brian grinned. “I usually let him come once a day, on average. Less if he’s bad. And he gets treats when he’s good, don’t you?” Gerard made a cooing sound that Bob never wanted to hear coming from a grown man’s throat, for all that the shudder it caused went straight to his dick. “But you can do whatever. He packed a few of his favorite toys, so if you want to give him a reward and play with him a while, you’re set.”

Bob’s stomach turned over, but he just nodded curtly. That wasn’t happening. He would “pet-sit” because Brian asked him to, but it was just a temporary thing. He wasn’t _keeping_ Gerard, and he wasn’t going to…play with him.

Brian gave him an overview of the rest of the rules, but Bob had read the e-mail (it really did read like the directions he got when he used to sit with his great-aunt’s cats during her annual trip to Bermuda, except with ball gags and slightly more profanity) and he was watching Gerard’s eyes. They weren’t foggy, like he was in some kind of drugged haze, and they weren’t vacant, but they weren’t _right_ either. Clear and bright, and calm. Too calm for someone on all fours. Too calm for anyone really, there was a sort of beatific serenity that was usually thought of as the dominion of saints, not human pets.

When Brian finished, he patted Gerard’s cheek. “Up.” Gerard nuzzled into his hand, ignoring him, and Brian, without any chance in expression, pulled his hand away from the nuzzling and backhanded Gerard. It wasn’t a full swing, but it was clearly hard, and Gerard was scrambling to his feet in the next instant, hair falling in front of his face, jeans still packed. “Go on.” Brian was firm, but not unkind. There was a fond undertone that Bob usually only heard from Brian when he was complaining about the Raygun guys and their newest dilemma.

Gerard walked slowly over to Bob, head down, somehow much more hesitant than when he’d crawled over and sucked Bob’s dick into his mouth without pause. His hair fell dark and messy in front of his eyes, and his mouth was set into a worried little moue. Bob hesitated too, but he reached up and brushed Gerard’s hair back from his face. Gerard didn’t look up at him, eyes trained on the ground.

Brian walked over to them, and wrapped his hand casually around Gerard’s neck. “You’ll be good for Bob.” Gerard started to turn, but Brian clenched his hand around his throat. “No. You’re Bob’s now, until I decide I want you again.” Bob watched while Brian’s fingers stayed tight, digging into flesh, while his thumb stroked the tendon standing out in Gerard’s neck. “Might be in a week, and it might be never. You’re lucky I don’t just put you on a shelf. I’m giving you to Bob because you’ve been a good boy, and I told Bob you’d be good to him. Don’t make me regret it.”

Bob wasn’t sure where this was going, or what he was expected to do, but all in a moment, Gerard went limp under the pressure of Brian’s hand, and it was done. Brian ran a hand through his hair and nodded, and Gerard looked up at Bob with those big, painfully calm eyes, and it was done.

Gerard followed him downstairs without any prompting, and climbed into the passengers seat of his car without a word. Bob was halfway to the next light when he realized Gerard hadn’t buckled his seat belt, and for once, he was thankful to hit a red. He reached across Gerard’s body, feeling awkward because, well. Gerard was obviously still hard, but Bob tugged the seatbelt across his lap and fastened it before slumping back into the driver’s seat.

It was a silent drive, and Bob was pretty sure it would be uneventful until he leaned forward to adjust the temperature, and Gerard leaned over and cupped his hand over Bob’s crotch. The car lurched to the side, and someone honked at him. Bob didn’t even have the presence of mind to flip the guy off while as he whizzed past because. Gerard’s hand was hot and sure over his dick, and his dick was definitely interested in get to know Gerard’s hand a lot better.

“Hey, no.” He reached down and took Gerard by the wrist. Gerard flexed his fingers idly against the rough denim of Bob’s jeans, and didn’t move his hand away until Bob moved it for him. “Just. No, not while I’m driving.”

Gerard didn’t reach over again, and he didn’t say anything, and he left his hand where Bob placed it on his thigh without so much as a thumb pressing in over his own bulging fly.

*

Brian had told Bob that Gerard would be fine curled up at the foot of his bed, or, if there wasn’t room, a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor in the bedroom would be fine. But, though it felt strangely prudish considering Gerard had sucked him off and was willing to fondle him in the car, Bob didn’t really feel comfortable installing Gerard in his bedroom. He didn’t _know_ him, and as much as Brian said it was the same, it was entirely different from watching his great-aunt’s cats. You couldn’t just set out a dish of food for a person and hope for the best, and Bob, at least, couldn’t just let some guy sleep in his bed.

The couch pulled out, surrendering his living room to Brian’s pet wasn’t exactly his favorite option, but when the other choice was Brian’s pet in his bedroom? He’d set it up before he left, tucking the corners of the sheets carefully under the ends of the mattress like his mom always did making the guest bed, just for something to do with his hands and his time.

“It’s all set.” Bob looked down at his feet while Gerard stood impassive next to him. He’d dropped to his knees when they entered the apartment and Bob, blushing beneath his beard, had pulled him gruffly back to his feet. “So. If you’re tired, or. When you’re tired. Just go ahead.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the bed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gerard nod. “Uh. Good.” The instinct struck him to pat Gerard’s head.

He turned away, clenching his hand at his side. It was still hours before he usually went to bed, but he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to this, and the duffel bag full of “toys” felt heavier than it should be, assuming Gerard hadn‘t packed any industrial-grade handcuffs and steel-tipped floggers--fuck, he _hoped_ Gerard hadn’t packed anything like that. He dropped the bag, and it didn’t clang, just thumped heavily on the bare floor.

“When do you want me?”

For a second Bob almost felt like looking wildly around the room for the source of the words--it was the first time he’d heard Gerard speak.

“What?”

Gerard ducked his head, and Bob could see him biting his lip even though the fall of dark hair. “I was just wondering. I’m sorry. I won’t--”

“I’m not mad.” Gerard didn’t look up and Bob sighed. “I’m not.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Gerard said. He was still looking down, and didn’t seem like he had anything else to say, so Bob left.

He closed the door to the bedroom behind him, telling himself it was to give Gerard some privacy. It was too early for him to sleep, and he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

*

He felt better in the morning. When he went to brush his teeth, the pull-out couch was unoccupied, but the sheets were messed up. It was the best way to find the living room, and he felt even better once his mouth tasted like mint. He wasn’t used to a roommate, hadn’t lived with someone since college--Frank never lived here. There was an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and a lonely glove sticking out from under Bob’s bed, but it was just usual relationship detritus--but he thought that maybe he could do this. It wouldn’t be that bad, necessarily. They could learn to live with each other, until Brian got off tour.

Bob thought that until he practically walked into Gerard, kneeling next to the kitchen counter. Gerard licked his ratty old sweatpants, like it was a reflex, mouth falling obediently open. He reached up to hook his fingers in the waistband and Bob couldn’t do this.

“No,” Bob said, firmly as he could. Gerard’s hands dropped right away, and Bob felt gratified for a moment, until he felt the graze of Gerard’s teeth, muted through the fabric but careful nonetheless, getting a hold of the front of Bob’s sweatpants, tugging them slowly down. He thought--shit. Bob’s breath stuttered. Brian certainly had him well-trained. A moment after he thought so, he felt slick inside. Gerard was a _person_ , not some kind of dog to do tricks. So what if he’d already had Gerard’s mouth around him-- _once more, just one more time couldn’t hurt anything_ \--he didn’t deserve any of this. He reached down to grab Gerard’s hair, more forcefully than he meant to, and Gerard moaned. Full-throated and unabashed, and Bob was starting to see that Gerard’s behavior was going to let him know a lot more than he ever wanted to about Brian’s sexual preferences. Luckily, so far they seemed pretty well in line with his own--his dick twitched, bumping under Gerard’s chin through the nubby cotton and Gerard made one of those same cooing sounds that Bob heard yesterday, and that snapped him back. _No._

Gerard had given up on his attempt to tug Bob’s sweatpants down with his teeth, just mouthing sloppily through the fabric, taking as much of Bob as he could into his mouth. It ached to put a hand on his shoulder and push him away, but it was the neediness that did him in. Bob couldn’t handle that, and it was a perfect reminder that this wasn’t normal or okay. It was a mess, and Gerard whimpered when Bob dropped a hand to his shoulder and pushed him away.

“Gerard, no. I don’t. Fuck.” Bob rubbed a hand across his nose and pressed his knuckles to his forehead. Gerard looked up at him like a kicked puppy deciding a second attempt to nuzzle your hand would be worth it. “I don’t _want_ this, okay? Not.” He waved his hand, hopefully encompassing the entirety of Gerard and himself. “None of it, okay? I’m just giving you a place. It’s not. I don’t expect anything from you.”

Gerard was still staring up at him, but he visibly crumpled at that. He looked down at the floor, and when he looked up, his eyes weren’t clear anymore. They were a little dark, a little blank: human eyes. Bob sighed and slumped out of the strict posture he hadn’t realized he’d been holding himself in. “Great. We good?”

“Yeah.” Gerard’s voice was obviously the same as yesterday, obviously. Nasal and a little bit too measured. But it sounded different. “Yeah, okay.”

*

Bob didn’t really know what he should be looking out for. The only person he’d ever lived with was Patrick, and he was intense about the shit he was intense about, but pretty chill about everything else. So while there were never bare feet up on the couch or on the coffee table when Patrick was in the room and Bob kept food he bought for himself on the door and stuff he bought for public use on the shelves in the fridge, Bob really didn’t change anything about how he lived.

The same method seemed to be working with Gerard. Bob didn’t actually see too much of him--he was asleep when Bob left for work most mornings, and Bob hadn’t quite worked up the courage to try to hang out with him. He spent a lot of time listening to his iPod in his room, and he cleaned the bathroom for the first time in forever. He went out with Ray and the guys, laughed about how long it would be before Brian started keeping Pete on a leash, for the good of the band (even though it wasn’t quite as funny to Bob as it used to be).

He didn’t notice anything wrong for longer than it should have taken him. Yeah, he’d been having trouble finding some of his CDs, but he wasn’t exactly the most organized guy in the world. And sure, he was almost positive he’d put fresh batteries in the t.v. remote a week or two ago, but who knows? The first thing he really noticed was his credit card bill--all kinds of carry-out food, that either had to be crazy expensive or ordered in ridiculous amounts, that he’d never seen a grain of rice or slice of pepperoni from, charged to his card. It wasn’t a big deal, he told himself. Gerard had to eat, and Bob hadn’t exactly been packing brown-bag lunches for him. Brian said to make sure he was eating regularly, and this looked like he was, if kind of extravagantly. Brian also said that he’d take care of himself, and he was. He probably didn’t even think about money--Bob doubted Brian had trained him with an appreciation for interest rates.

He tried to bring it up once, coming into the kitchen and finding Gerard leaning against the counter, facing away from him.

“Hey, got a minute?” It seemed polite to ask, even though it wasn’t like Gerard did _anything_ , but to his surprise, Gerard looked over his shoulder at him, cellphone pressed to his ear.

“Mmm. Yeah, just a second,” he said into the phone, then his eyes flicked over to Bob. They seemed sharper than they had been before. Colder. “What?”

He sounded like someone interrupted, and Bob felt stupidly embarrassed. “I, uh. I just got the bill for my credit card. It’s pretty high.”

Gerard’s gaze flicked over him. “Yeah?” The unspoken _so?_ was bitter in the air.

“I’m not mad,” he said, remembering how Gerard had crumpled and whimpered before, in the first few days. “I just wanted to ask you to watch it, okay? If you need more food, I can get groceries. That’s cheaper.”

“Mmm,” Gerard said. “Is that it?”

Bob stared at him, brow wrinkled. “Uh, yeah. That’s it.”

Gerard went back to his conversation without another word.

He should have known then, or at least started to suspect, but he didn’t. Or, he did, but he never let himself dwell on any of it. Gerard was an adult, even if he was acting like a sullen teenager. He was his own person, and he could make his own choices.

He held out for nearly another month, getting intermittent phone calls from Brian, always crackly with the bad reception of backroads, towns, and bars. He avoided the subject of Gerard’s attitude change, just telling Brian he was well-fed, and that he seemed to be adjusting fine.

Then, he came home after work one night to find Gerard kneeling on top of the counter, jimmying open the cupboard he’d locked all his liquor in.

It only took an instant, a fraction, and Bob knew that Brian was right, and Frank had been right, and they were all _right_ about him.

He dropped his keys on the floor and didn’t even hear them clatter before he had his hand in Gerard’s hair. ( _You can more than handle him,_ Brian says.) Bob pulled. ( _Someone’s going to need you, okay?_ Frank says, twisting the hem of his hoodie in his hands. _I can’t take up that space, you know?_ At the time it had sounded like “I don’t need you, I don’t want you, I never really did.”) Gerard cried out, first out of shock, and then out of pain while Bob watched him hit the kitchen floor.

“What is this?”

“Fuck, what the--” Gerard started, and Bob yanked his hair again, pulling his head back so it was turned up ceiling ward, neck twisted.

“I want an answer, not your bullshit.“ Gerard was sullenly silent, eyes squinted closed against the pain, but he didn’t try to get out of Bob’s grip. Bob stared down at him, and the cool clarity in his head was such a relief. “What the fuck were you thinking, huh? Thought some of my vodka would fill you up good?” Gerard still said nothing, and Bob tugged on his hair, pulling his head back and back farther, until Gerard cried out. “I asked you a fucking question.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispered, choked through his straining throat.

“That’s not an answer.” Bob let go and Gerard fell forward, bracing himself on his elbows before his face hit the floor. “You can’t do it, can you?” Gerard just breathed, heavy and wheezing, back rising and falling visibly. “I thought I would do you a favor, give you a chance. But you can’t do it, can you?”

Gerard made a noise that sounded like a sob. It made Bob’s heart clench and his dick twitch. It was fucking tragic, was what it was.

“You need this.” Bob crouched, running his hand over Gerard’s hair before closing his hand in it and pulling again. Gerard keened. “You can’t do it on your own. You need me to do it for you. Isn’t that right?”

He was prepared to wrench Gerard’s head back again, but he didn’t have to. Gerard sobbed out another rough, heaving noise, and then he was babbling, “Yes, god, yes, please. Please, I need you, god, I need you so bad, please help me, don’t make me, don’t leave me, please--”

“Hey, shh.” Bob let go of Gerard’s hair and smoothed his hand down his head, down and around to fit his hand around Gerard’s neck, like he remembered Brian doing. Gerard shuddered, but he didn’t make any more miserable noises. “I’ve got you.”

*

Gerard’s bag, which had sat alone and unopened next to the couch for so long, had several pairs of handcuffs. One set was really heavy-duty; they looked like real police issued ones, and Bob didn’t want to think about how Brian managed to get a hold of those. He probably would, compulsively, when this was all over, but now, all he could think of was the solid sound of metal snapping closed around Gerard’s wrists.

He was beautiful. Bob hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t let himself think about, but, god. There were definite parallels that he could see between Gerard and Frankie--relatively small, dark hair, pale, that little potbelly. But while Frank had always been giggling, no matter how tied up he was, making asshole comments, Gerard was _down_. He was glorious in his submission, lying back with his cuffed wrists lying on the pillows and his legs spread obediently, eyes closed, breath coming quick from his wet, perfect mouth, flushed cock lying against his belly.

“You want to be good, don’t you?” Gerard nodded, eyes still closed, and Bob traced his fingers over Gerard’s hips. They were plush under his touch, and Gerard squirmed. “Tell me you’ll be good.”

“I will.” Gerard opened his eyes, and Bob’s breath caught when he saw them, clear and calm as the day that he first took him home from Brian’s studio.

Bob nodded to himself, warmth spreading in his chest, and reached the crest of Gerard‘s hip. His fingers kept traveling, tracing over Gerard‘s belly, closer to where the head of his cock was leaving sticky wet marks below his navel. “Why are you going to be good, Gerard?”

“For you.” He could see Gerard straining to keep from pushing into his touch. “Just you.”

Bob stopped the slow progress of his fingers and pinched Gerard‘s hip hard, twisting the soft flesh. “No.” Gerard cried out, and his dick pulsed against his belly. There was a red mark on his white skin and Bob wanted to bend and kiss it better, but not as much as he wanted to leave matching marks all over Gerard’s body. “That’s wrong. Why are you going to be good?”

“I--” Gerard shut his eyes again. “I.”

“Who’s important?” Bob guided, gently.

Gerard opened his eyes, still clear but the faintest bit distrustful. When he spoke, his voice was shy, childish enough that Bob wanted to just kiss his cheek. “…for me?”

Bob smiled, and he ran his thumb firmly up the underside of Gerard’s dick. He gasped, and Bob could see the muscles in his thighs and belly tense to keep from squirming. “That’s right. Good.”

Gerard whimpered, cheeks flushed a pleased pink, and Bob couldn’t hold out against that, no matter how much he might want to.

“God, I want you.” He traced his fingers lightly over Gerard’s belly, purposefully around the wet smear his cock left. Gerard shivered under him.

“Take me. Please, please, please.” Bob ran his fingers across the smear of precome and Gerard sucked in a breath. He opened his mouth obediently and sucked Bob’s fingers clean, lapping and nibbling at his fingertips like a kitten.

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, you want it, baby?”

Gerard moaned around Bob‘s fingers, loud and needy and somehow not the slightest bit theatrical. He was sincere, always, earnest in his total submission, and it was like everything Bob had wanted and never gotten _right_. Frankie came close, closer than anything else, but he’d been half-right in what he’d thought before. He and Frank were just a _thing_ , a weird sexy thing, not like what Brian did at all. But what Brian did was what he really wanted to be doing, and Frank wasn’t the one to do it with.

Bob crawled up the bed, watching Gerard’s eyes get bigger and darker as he got closer, before throwing a leg over Gerard’s chest and pushing his hand through Gerard’s hair to cup the back of his head and pull him forward. Gerard’s mouth was already open when Bob’s dick nudged against his lips, but not open enough. He did it on purpose, Bob knew that, part of the rebellious streak that got him into trouble when ignored. Gerard may have been down, but he never stopped looking for attention, always wanted to push at the boundaries, see what rules could be broken. Bob was more than happy to give it all to him.

He thrust forward, pushing himself past Gerard’s lips and into the wet heat of his mouth. Gerard made a muffled sound, and Bob pulled him forward by his hair at the same time he rolled his hips forward--feeling his dick press against of Gerard’s throat was his favorite power trip. He got off on the power as much as the head, really, pulling and thrusting and fucking Gerard’s throat raw while he whined and slobbered like the cockslut he was. If he didn’t pay close attention, it was easy to come down Gerard’s throat without even meaning to, but this time, he meant to. He _pulled_ when he came, smashing Gerard’s nose into the musky blonde hair at the base of his dick.

Gerard fell backwards when he let go, spit and a little come dribbling out of the corners of his mouth, eyes pleasure-shocked and wide. Bob climbed off and reached down to squeeze Gerard’s cock. “You want it?” Gerard nodded desperately and Bob slapped his cock, not lightly. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, please, god, fucking god, yes. I need it, need you, please.” The symphony of need, words intermingled with sounds, made Bob almost want to give Gerard what he wanted then and there. _Almost._

Bob squeezed Gerard cock again, then reached down to cradle his balls, giving those a quick squeeze too. “Keep it for me, baby. Keep it up, and I‘ll let you come.”

Gerard whimpered, and Bob got off the bed, back to Gerard’s bag. In addition to handcuffs, there was a startling variety of vibrators and dildos: industrial-looking black ones and purple ones with glitter. Bob picked one of the bigger vibes, but not anything out of the ordinary. There would be times for that, but not tonight.

He walked slowly over to the bed where Gerard was shifting, trying to find some comfortable position that didn’t exist, shiny drops of precome gathering at the head of his dick, sliding down towards his balls and wetting his belly again. Bob flipped the vibe to it’s lowest setting and ran it over the bottom of Gerard’s foot. He squawked, but didn’t flinch away or giggle. Good.

Bob traced the toy up the inside of Gerard’s leg, flipping it on and off so it buzzed against his knee and then the crux of his thigh. He pressed it against Gerard’s navel, where it made the excess flesh wobble like he was laughing, and a buzz over each nipple made Gerard squeak. He drew it through the mess at the corners of Gerard’s mouth and then pressed it against his lips. “Suck it.”

Gerard sucked. One of the only downsides to fucking Gerard’s face was missing this, the utter abandon with which he sucked cock, slurping and moaning, tracing wild shapes with his tongue and sealing his lips into a tight little “o” that popped loudly every time he drew off long enough to tease and lap at the head. Bob’s dick twitched, watching it and wanting in on the action, and he shifted so his legs were further apart while he played with Gerard.

“Keep sucking, you little slut. That’s all the lube you’re getting.” Bob pressed the vibrator deeper into Gerard’s mouth, and he just moaned, wriggling on the bed like some hormone-crazed cat. When Bob couldn’t stand to wait and watch any longer, he pulled the vibe out of Gerard’s mouth, enjoying the spit trail from the head to Gerard’s shiny red lips and the little wanting sounds Gerard made, how his chin tilted up, trying to follow the plastic cock. Bob ran it down the side of his face, leaving a trail of Gerard’s own spit along his cheek, and Gerard poked his tongue out to catch a lick when the vibe went past him. Bob shuddered and couldn’t wait any longer.

Gerard had orders to prep himself earlier, but it had been long enough ago that shoving a vibrator up his ass with just spit coating it was a burn. Gerard practically yowled while it disappeared inside him, and Bob flipped it on just to here Gerard’s animal voice catch in his throat.

He fucked him with it, getting harder himself while he watched the fake cock spreading Gerard open, the way Gerard’s dick bobbed against his belly every time he squirmed at a vibration directly against his prostate.

“Hold it.” Bob swallowed hard. “Hold it, baby, just a while longer, don’t you come yet.” Gerard whined his displeasure and Bob couldn’t let a piece of plastic have the spot he wanted so badly for any longer. He pulled the vibrator out, threw it somewhere off the bed, and thrust into Gerard in a fluid motion. He buried himself in Gerard with a grunt, and Gerard moaned like nothing else, arching up underneath him.

Bob knew that as a grown man on his second orgasm of the night, this should take a while, give him plenty of time to fuck Gerard into the mattress and make him _cry_ to come. What should be and what was, however, were two very different things, and Bob found himself groaning nearly as loudly as Gerard, the jerk of his hips going sloppy.

He came, with a hoarse shout, and Gerard did cry, a wordless wail of need. Bob hissed, “Do it, now.” And Gerard was coming too, thick and hot over his belly and chest.

Bob hunched on top of him, inside him, for a long moment. He could hear Gerard sigh, the happy little sigh that came after a good session, especially when Bob goes soft inside him. It had to be a weird feeling, but Gerard seemed to like it. He hissed when Bob pulled out, then wriggled around a little more. Bob leaned up to undo the handcuffs but Gerard smiled, eyes closed. “C’n I keep ‘em on?”

Bob smiled back down at him. “Yeah, sure.” He crawled out of bed and into the bathroom to grab a towel. He ran some warm water over it before coming back to the bedroom, turning off the light on his way over. He swabbed down Gerard’s chest and between his thighs, working from a practically infallible memory of Gerard‘s body, while Gerard hummed, sleepy and appreciative. He gave himself a cursory rub down and chucked the towel over the side of the bed to grab in the morning.

Gerard kept wiggling and shifting until Bob lay down next to him, pressed against his side with a hand laying possessive on his damp belly.

“Hrm. Fmmks,” Gerard mumbled, and Bob grinned and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
